To the South
by thewoofle
Summary: For those who have read The Assassin's Blade and at least through Heir of Fire. This is an AU based on a tumblr post by [thedarkenchuntress]. It's basically a 'What if Sam Didn't Die' AU in which Sam and Celaena continue on to the southern continent as planned.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So hello! First of all, thank you _so much_ for coming to read this. Please only read this if you have read through The Assassin's Blade and at least through to Heir of Fire.

This is based on the tumblr post originated by _**darkenchuntress**_ and continued by _**getupfireheart**_ and _**booknerd308**_. Finally, it reached my dash through _**fallenaelin.**_

It starts off with the line, _"_ _Do you ever stop to think about what would have happened if Sam and Celaena left for the Southern continent without consulting Arobynn?"_ This line was followed by points outlining a 'what could have been' future.

So I sort of twisted it and now it's a "What if Sam didn't die?" AU. But still inspired by and sort of based on the points of the post and the lovely alternate future that Celaena and Sam could have had together.

 _ **fallenaelin**_ had already volunteered to take on this AU, but I saw it and could not resist giving it a shot. So here it is - chapter 1 of To The South. I hope you enjoy it, or if you don't, review and tell me what I've done wrong!

Rated M for now? Because MA includes like violent _violent_ scenes, and that is most definitely Celaena, but…..

Here goes nothing!

Sam came back from his assignment with a massive grin on his face, and it was all Celaena could do not to melt in relief.

The very vain side of her (it was also a prominent side, but she was working on it) noted that Sam was dripping on her carpet.

The rather more practical and loving side noted that Sam was dripping not only rainwater but also blood.

Sam lifted wet locks of hair from his face with the back of his hand and raised an eyebrow.

"Is this all the greeting a man gets after killing a crime lord and bleeding all over Rifthold?"

Celaena rushed forward to embrace him and dragged him into the bathroom, words tumbling out of her mouth one after the other.

She alternated between scolding him for worrying her and telling him how glad she was that he was _finally_ back as her hands flew over his suit, deftly unbuckling and stripping it away until an almost-naked Sam stood before her in his underwear.

A long and fairly deep gash (that had to _hurt_ ) ran down the side of Sam's arm. A scratch on his chin and a stab on his chest were the only other wounds.

Lips pressed together in disapproval, Celaena cleaned and bound the wounds before sticking Sam in the shower (and warning him very sternly not to use herlavender soap). Then she headed back to her living room and flopped down on the couch, letting herself soak in the fact that yes, Sam was here and he was beautifully, blissfully alive.

In a day she would kill Jayne and then they would set off for the southern continent - far from Arobynn and Rifthold and their ugly, binding pasts here.

The water shut off in the other room and Celaena blinked. A moment later, Sam appeared in the doorway, towel wrapped around his waist.

Water gathered on the ends of his hair and spilled down the lines of his body, framed as it was by the light of the bathroom. His eyes met hers and Celaena gulped as she felt heat begin to coil in her belly.

It was immediately snuffed out when Sam said, "There was a trap."

 _What?_ Her mouth opened involuntarily and she repeated, "What?"

Sam turned and re-entered the bathroom, stripping off the towel and wiping down his hair. Celaena sat up on the couch and watched his golden skin ripple above the muscles of his back.

"He knew I was coming. That's why I took so long."

Celaena felt like her world had stopped turning _._ Automatically, her brain made the leap and read what Sam wasn't saying.

 _Arobynn._

Arobynn had been the only person to know of their plans. Dazedly, Celaena registered that Sam was speaking again. His words flowed like water over the unresponsive rocks of her ears.

"... had to wait till one... took out a guard outside... shift was undermanned...took out Farran but not easily... almost got a knife between my ribs... Celaena? Celaena? Are you-"

Warm hands grasped the sides of her face. Sure fingers tipped her chin up and she found herself looking into Sam's concerned eyes.

"Listening, yes, I'm listening," she gasped. And then, "Sam, Arobynn was the only one - the only one-"

"Who knew, yes, I know." His eyes were lovely and serious as they gazed into her own. "And we'll decide what to do about that later."

Some of her outrage must have shown on her face, because Sam smirked and leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips.

 _Damn_ man knew just how to shut her up.

"You," breathed Sam, his mouth an inch away from hers, "are going to kill Jayne, and _then_ we will decide what to do with Arobynn."

She still couldn't quite catch her breath. Sam stood, eyes alight with love and maybe a tiny bit of smugness, and she stood too, as if by reflex. She would follow him anywhere, she knew, and somehow the bone-deep certainty she felt didn't scare her.

She lunged for him, slamming him to the floor, and as their eyes met and their lips crashed together she instinctively knew this was more _right_ than anything else she had ever done.

xxx

The next day

Finally she slammed the door shut, cutting out the sight and sound of his worried face and ceaseless babbling.

She loved Sam, but she was Adarlan's Assassin for God's sake. She could look after herself.

xxx

Well, maybe she couldn't quite look after herself as well as she thought. Jayne was _wicked_ with a blade, devious and unorthodox and completely unlike anyone or anything she had ever seen.

Of course, she had still dispatched him. And his four guards.

But not before he had gotten in a few good hits. She supposed he was a crime lord for _something_.

She kept a hand pressed to her ribs as she tottered up the stairs to the apartment she and Sam shared. Oooh, it hurt.

"Open up, Sam!" she shouted with the last of her failing strength, feeling her knees give out and hit the stone stairs hard.

Ouch. Bruises tomorrow.

She heard rushing footsteps and the whine of a sharp dagger being pulled from a sheath. "What is it, Celaena?" Sam bellowed from inside the apartment.

The click of the lock on the door, and then the slam of the door against the wall. Sam's voice.

Strong arms gathered her up, and she shook uncontrollably in Sam's arms as he pounded up the stairs.

"Hang on, Celaena. You'll make it," Sam promised. His voice was filled with love and desperation; and under that, the dark growl of violence.

He set her down on the couch, and systematically removed her suit. When he saw her injuries, he swore lowly and sat back on his heels.

"Might... have been... followed," Celaena choked out, and he stroked her hair back from her face.

"Don't worry about that now." Sam left her side for a minute and she almost gasped at the loss of warmth. Then he was back, solid and comforting.

"I'm going to turn you, alright? I need to clean that," Sam said.

Celaena breathed in. Breathed out. Then nodded.

Sam was as gentle as he could be, but she still felt like screaming in agony at the movement. She gritted her teeth and bore it, eyes wild.

When his hands touched the wound, she couldn't take it. She blacked out, falling gratefully into the hands of unconsciousness.

xxx

When she woke, she was in their bed, and her ribs felt stiff.

"S-Sam?" she slurred. Her head fell to the side and she struggled to open her eyes.

"Here," he said from beside her, and his hand clasped her own.

She paused. There was something she had wanted to say to him.

"I collected the money," he offered. She smirked. It was so _Sam_ to speak of money. So practical. "The man who gave me the contract, he must've been Arobynn's. But I don't think he knew it was a set-up."

"Arobynn," she said, making it a statement instead of a question.

She still couldn't open her eyes. She was ridiculously tired.

Sam hummed unhappily. "We can't take him."

"What?!" Celaena cried, trying to shove herself into a sitting position. Then pain shot down her side and she slumped back down.

"Listen to me, Celaena." Sam's voice was low and soothing. "Arobynn is always well guarded and watched. He knows we know. He'll be waiting. And the man himself is a devil in combat. We can't get to him."

She huffed and knew without seeing that Sam was smirking.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," she snapped. And then, "Why do I _hurt_ so much?"

"Poisoned blade," Sam told her. "Go to sleep."

She would have protested, but her muscles felt like they were melting into each other. So she nestled further into the cushions and fell asleep.

xxx

The next time she woke, she felt much better. She swung her legs out of bed and made her way around the apartment, stretching and yawning as she tried to get up enough motivation to exercise and not simply curl up into a ball with a book.

She had just about given up when the door opened and Sam strode in, carrying a bag of food under an arm.

He stopped short when he saw her. "You're not supposed to be out of bed!"

She narrowed her eyes at him and he backed off, knowing how stubborn she could be. He headed into the kitchen and deposited his parcel.

He spoke over a shoulder.

"I've packed up your things. The ship leaves tomorrow."

She gaped. _Tomorrow?_ So soon - and yet she knew it was the right choice. They had to get out of here, before Arobynn or the new Crime Lord came after them for the twin assassinations.

She found her voice. "I'll be ready," she got out faintly, feeling not at all ready. Sam crossed the room to her, smiling sadly, and held her close.

"No, you won't. But you'll do it, because it's what we have to do, and I'll be right beside you. Alright?"

"Alright," she said, taking strength from the vibrant life in his eyes, and then before she could lose her nerve, she kissed him. Sam smiled against her lips and kissed her back. She felt like a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders; like she could kiss him forever; like she could fall off a cliff and smile, because she knew he'd be always, _always_ waiting at the bottom to catch her.

xxx

The docks stank. Celaena wrinkled her nose as she and Sam hurried down the wharf to where their ship awaited. Their belongings were already onboard, snuck on the previous night with the help of a deckhand and a few pieces of gold.

Celaena had kept the apartment, after much deliberation. She wanted a place to stay if ever she came back to Adarlan - and it wasn't like they needed the money - not after they claimed the blood money from killing Jayne and Farran.

The captain waited at the gangplank, sharp eyes roving the space under bushy black brows. When he caught sight of the two assassins, his chin lifted briefly as he assessed them. Then he gave a tight nod, as if they had passed his inspection, and turned to board his ship.

Beside Celaena, Sam was tense, watching the crowd and surrounding buildings for any sign or pursuit. Celaena had transferred Arobynn's leaving fee to his account before they left, but neither of them really believed their old mentor would just let them leave so easily.

Ah.

Tern and Harding materialized out of the crowd. Celaena pushed Sam back and faced them, a finger tapping on the hilt of her dagger.

"Arobynn sent us to convey his regards," Harding said, keeping his eyes on hers. Celaena did not blink.

"He said to tell you he would not forget."

Celaena became suddenly aware of movement at her back; before she could stop him, Sam had burst forward to stand next to her.

"That's all he has to say? After _setting_ us up and leaving us to _die?_ He would _not forget?_ " Sam was wild and furious, a beast in the prime of his youth ready to rip the two men into pieces.

"Sam," Celaena murmured, flicking a finger against his side. She could feel him trembling with anger. Too much attention, too many people.

"We'll take our leave of you," she said, stepping up and lifting her chin arrogantly, "gentlemen." She let disdain drip off her words and made sure they saw the dangerous fire in her eyes.

Oh, she was Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan's Assassin, and she'd lie dead in a gutter before she let these men think they were better than her.

She stared them down, daring them to come closer, and finally Harding broke, scowling.

"Bitch," he muttered under his breath, and then he and Tern left, easing in to the crowd as smoothly and quickly as they had come.

Celaena watched them go, a smirk playing on her lips. "Bitch indeed," she murmured.

Sam broke from where he had been standing, and she saw the passionate wrath on his face.

"Hey, hey," she said, softly but firmly, turning him to face her. "Control, remember? No touching Arobynn, and certainly no disemboweling his minions."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply. Then he opened them, and she was both pleased and proud to see the clear calm in his eyes once more. He put an arm around her waist and together they boarded the ship, ready to leave Rifthold - and Adarlan - far behind.

xxx

It was weeks - or even months - to Wendlyn. Celaena had made sure Sam had booked a private room for the two of them - damn the cost, she wasn't bedding down like some peasant in the stifling air of the hold - which was why she was more than surprised to find her way barred when she opened the door to their room.

An older, grey-haired man stood before her, a hand on the sword at his waist. He glared down at her and took a step forward to stand in the doorway. Behind him she could see a bunk bed pushed up against the wall, and a rickety wooden dresser jammed next to a clothes chest. And a figure in the upper bunk-

"Your business, miss?"

In the corridor, Sam pounded up the stairs.

"Celaena, I spoke to the captain and he gave me an extra key-" He fell silent upon seeing the two: slender, deadly Celaena and a looming, armed man in  
front of her.

Without a word, he came to stand beside her.

"This is my room," Celaena stated, fishing out her key and dangling it in front of the man. The room number - 3 - there weren't that many private rooms available - looped across the top of the key in broad black strokes, mocking the man.

"I'm sure you're mistaken," rumbled the man, and leaned forward, as if to try and intimidate her. Gods, she was _so_ fed up of bigger, taller people trying to scare her. She could flip this man over her shoulder and trust Sam to gut him like a fish.

"And I'm sure I'm _not_ ," said Celaena through gritted teeth. Her dagger spun in her hand, fueled by her impatience and irritation.

"That's enough," two voices declared at the same time. Celaena spun to face Sam, shooting him a betrayed look, but he only gestured for her to turn back around.

The figure she had seen on the bunk earlier was a youth, clean-shaven with olive skin and black hair. He carried himself as if he was older than he looked, and an air of command cloaked him like a second skin.

"I am sure this dispute can be settled without violence. I cede the room to you, my lady," and here he inclined his head towards Celaena, "and Yander and I will go to the Captain to procure another room. It is not a great difficulty."

Having said so, he strode out into the cramped corridor, leaving his - guard, she assumed - to re-enter the room and pack up his belongings.

Celaena stepped back to let him pass. But something about her face stopped him dead, and his eyes widened. Turquoise eyes, ringed in gold - the same eyes she saw everyday in the mirror.

 _Ashryver_ eyes.

They stood opposite each other, eye to eye, barely breathing as the silence stretched and held. "You," he breathed, in barely more than a whisper, "you and I, we need to talk."

xxx

"What does he want?" asked Sam _again_ , and Celaena let out an exasperated sigh. She didn't want to think about her past, about the darkened days of laughter and court and fire, the girl she barely knew and scarcely remembered. Scarcely _allowed_ herself to remember.

"I don't _know_ ," she lied, and pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the porthole.

"I told you before that I'll never press you for your secrets, Celaena. It's just - well, I thought we'd finally left all this conspiracy behind us. I want you to be _safe._ "

Celaena took a deep breath and gathered the memories of the past threatening to overflow. Then she settled her face into a mask of brash arrogance and turned to face Sam with a smirk on her lips.

"Now _where's_ the fun in that?"

And as she breezed through the door, she caught sight of the expression on his face - a kind of exasperation, but also pride, and most of all faith in her.

Guilt stabbed through her like a hot knife through butter.

xxx

The youth stood waiting for her by the prow of the ship, a hand carelessly flung on the wooden rail, his brilliant eyes piercing and clear. He didn't wait for her to come close before he spoke.

"You are an Ashryver."

Ah, there it was.

"Yes. And _you_ are Galan Ashryver, Crown Prince of Wendlyn." Back in the cabin, in those few seconds before she had been swamped by the memories of her childhood, she had mentally run through the names and ages of all the Ashryvers she knew. The only two male Ashryvers who would be around this age were Galan Ashryver and her own dear cousin, Aedion.

And since she knew Aedion's face, still, like the back of her hand, this could only be Galan.

His eyes were very serious as they stared into her own. "Yes."

He looked every inch the prince, silhouetted against the sky and the seabirds, dark hair tossed by the wind.

"And who are _you?_ The only Ashryvers Adarlan had were in Terrasen. The royal family is dead-" _gods,_ did he have to say it so simply? "and you are clearly not the Wolf of the North."

She watched the gears spin in his mind, watched as he worked his way back through dates and deaths. Watched, too, the terrible knowledge dawn in his eyes, and he looked at her in a new light.

"You are not somebody's by-blow." He said this as he watched her face carefully, and his voice shook as if he did not want to be wrong, and at the same time he could not face the consequences of being right.

"No." She was too far gone, too far off the cliff, to care about the insult, to care about anything but the certainty she saw building in his eyes as he opened his mouth to say the one word that would shatter everything-

" _Aelin_."

And then before she could stop herself, before she could control her mouth, her reply fell, like a stone that dropped between them and defiantly proclaimed a borderline and a new shift in their relationship:

" _Yes."_

They stared at each other, both of them teetering on a knife's edge, and as her cowardice rose and crashed over her she scarcely knew what she was doing, except that she had turned and was _running_ , running for all she was worth, away from Galan and the words she could not hear that he shouted after her.

A/N:

Here I am again! Please do leave reviews, or PM me, whichever is preferred - I appreciate any and all forms of feedback. Thank you once more for coming to read!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you everybody who has followed, favourited, reviewed or simply enjoyed! In case it needs to be said, I do not own Throne of Glass in any way.**

 **As it turns out, Wendlyn isn't actually to the south and the title has a rather serious flaw. I'm afraid it's a bit late now. The ship has sailed, one might say.**

 **Those who have read the Alex Rider books, you might recognize a moment later on. Just my nod to an excellent series while keeping the story moving.**

 **Lastly, my apologies for taking so long to update. I like to think the chapter lengths are some small compensation, but that doesn't exactly hold true for this chapter, which fell quite a bit short of the target. Thanks for reading, and please do leave feedback!**

Chapter 2!

"No, you're not getting in to see her." Sam's voice was flat as he stood in the doorway, barring Galan from entering. She'd been avoiding the prince like the plague, but he was terribly insistent - and he had special influence with the captain.

She'd since found out he was on the ship to inspect conditions: to oversee the whole process of bringing refugees from Adarlan to Wendlyn, and try to pry out any corruption along the way. He'd been speaking to passengers, sending his man Yander out to socialize - well, he was making a damn good effort, and she could respect that.

She just wished he wasn't as set on speaking to her as he was on helping the refugees.

In front of their room, Galan frowned. "Who are you to stop me?"

Sam shrugged. "Try me and find out."

Celaena could not help but smile as she watched Galan. The Crown Prince was not stupid enough to take Sam on alone - not when he saw the easy way Sam fingered his dagger, and the scars that came from very sharp blades flecked all over his body.

Celaena watched with grim triumph as the prince backed down, but everything about him screamed that he wasn't done, not with her or her stupid royal name or her stupid royal legacy. He'd corner her, one day, and then all the secrets would spill out like pebbles from a hastily overturned basket.

She still hadn't told Sam. She wasn't ready. She didn't know if she ever would be.

xxx

Galan watched her, all the time. It was him, or Yander, or wide eyes shining in the shadows. At least those disappeared when she met them. She caught the flash of gold in the dark, hungry hands clamped around a coin, and at night she heard the pitter-patter of running words from Galan's room.

Gods, how she hated him. He'd shaken her in a way few had; she felt like her composure was failing, like her mask was cracking and her past was welling up like blood, impossible to ignore or wipe cleanly away.

xxx

It was the darkest of night, and the only sound she could hear was the gentle wash of waves against the ship's hull. Lying as she was against the top bunk, she could peer out of the porthole and watch the moonlight silver the tops of the waves.

Slowly she moved across her bed, taking care to avoid the creaky parts of the mattress. The bed groaned if she moved too quickly, something she and Sam had found out the first night.

She dangled her head over the side, twisting to look at Sam in his bunk and almost falling off her own bed when his brown eyes met hers steadily.

"Hello," he said.

Unsuccessfully she flailed for something to grab onto. "Gods, Sam, don't _do_ that," she hissed, feeling her heart leap in her chest. His brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

Celaena looked at him, frowning, and made the logical decision to flip herself onto his bunk. It wasn't like she was going back to sleep, anyway, and if he was already awake…

She'd expected him to move, but somehow he'd figured out what she was going to do and moved precisely so that he could stretch out his arms and catch her.

She fell quite literally into his arms, and he set her legs down, holding her against his hard chest chest effortlessly with one arm. She felt their hearts beat against each other as he watched her, brown eyes glowing in his face. She could see something in his eyes, like he'd come to a decision.

Carefully, slowly, he leaned in, so that the stubble on his jawline touched her skin and his breath grazed her face. His eyes were close, so close, and filled with nothing but acceptance and determination.

"I don't know what this journey is going to bring," he breathed, and she found that she could not look away from him. "But whatever it is, whatever secrets you carry, _whatever it brings_ , I want you to know that I'll _always_ love you. I love you. I love you now and forever-"

She brought a finger to the corner of his lips but he would not be shushed-

"-and till the end of time. And no matter _what_ gets between us, no matter if you _hate_ me, I love you and I will _always_ be there if you need me. And may the gods grant that you will never have cause to doubt my words."

She was speechless, filled to the brim with emotions that felt like they would explode out of her skin with their strength. She lunged up, pressing her lips to Sam's, and letting him feel without words how much she loved him.

When she broke away, they were both gasping.

"I love you too, Sam Cortland," she breathed, and then they were together again, his arms locked tightly around her body, as she lost herself in him and cast aside all thoughts of tomorrow.

xxx

Weeks passed, and they drew ever closer to Wendlyn. She could almost taste Galan's frustration in the air. But it seemed he dared not touch her, not on the ship carrying so many refugees - not with so many innocent lives in his hands.

They were a week from Wendlyn when he finally cornered her in the hallway, on the way back from the bathroom. Hands still wet from washing, she found herself abruptly slammed against the rough wooden wall, her arms twisted behind her back.

"Tell me who you are," Galan growled. His voice came from the other side of the hallway, behind her and to the side, and she let out a breathless laugh.

"Too cowardly to do your own dirty work, _Prince?_ Can't stand the thought of pushing a girl?" She shoved back from the wall as forcefully as she was could, but was promptly pinned again, this time with the added security of an arm braced against her back.

" _Tell me who you are,"_ Galan snarled, and whoever was holding her hoisted her higher so that her feet dangled.

"Don't you know already, Prince? You seemed to figure it out well enough last time we spoke," she mocked. She twisted, her neck protesting, to get a glimpse of the Crown Prince.

Galan's eyes were hard and cold. "Don't play games with me," he warned. "You know what I want to know."

"You ask for my name, what I went as all these years. But I promise, you don't want to know my name," she purred. "It'll give you nightmares."

"I highly doubt that," he snapped. "What are your plans in Wendlyn?"

"Oh, just the usual. Settle down, have a quiet life. Why don't you ask one of your precious refugees? They'll tell you the same, I'm sure."

Galan motioned to the man holding her, and Celaena choked down a scream as her arm was wrenched upwards at an absurd angle. "Why are you doing this?" she gasped, hating how helpless she sounded, hating that she'd let down her guard enough to be ambushed like this.

"I'm here to protect my country," Galan told her, his low voice a growl. He strode closer, close enough that his eyes burned into Celaena's. She could not look away - they were icy stars, full of cold passion, filled with closely contained rage and steely determination.

"I will do _anything_ for them. Do you understand? I will kill for them, I will lie for them, I will throw away my honour in an instant to keep them safe. This is why I will not leave you alone; this is why I have you watched. Because I do not know who you are and what you want and I _will not let you_ bring war to my shores. I know what war has done to Erilea and I _will not_ let it happen in Wendlyn."

Something had a hold of her heart - there was a merciless hand squeezing and squeezing until she could not breathe. _This is what a prince should be_ , a traitorous voice whispered. _He should love his people, above all - he should be ready to die for them. This is what your father was, what your uncle was - what you should have been-_

Celaena slammed iron walls down in her mind, cutting off the voice, choking off all thought and leaving empty space where it had been. Her heart felt hollow in her chest, like the blood inside had rushed out, like all there was now was a shell where her heart had been, the place it had crawled out of. Fragile, crumbling, breaking - that was her heart.

"Protect them, then. _Kill me_." His eyes widened in surprise, those burning stars of his face, but she went on, "Is it so horrible that I seek happiness? That I am seventeen, and my greatest wish is to be free of the stain of blood? I have lived years under a master who has never known what love is, never cared for anything but my beautiful face, my slender body, my swift hands to slide a blade through skin and muscle and bone. I am seventeen," she repeated, her voice soft but the space in her heart screaming, "and all I want is to be happy."

His mouth moved, he shaped words, but she did not hear them. She wrenched to the side, her shoulders howling in pain, feeling something stretch and pop in her arm. Her chin connected with the top of a head, her elbow flying a moment later at the man's temple.

She knew this man, Galan's bodyguard, the soldier named Yander, but at that moment _she did not care._ Her foot came up between them and she lashed out at his ribs, sending him stumbling backwards to fall heavily onto the wall, unconscious.

She spun and raced towards Galan, her left arm flopping at her side. Dislocated, she thought, wincing inwardly, but the pain was covered over and muffled by what Arobynn called the 'killing calm' - the deep, cold part of her that sat aloof and drew out of the depths whenever she had to fight. Logic suppressed emotion; steely intellect quashed instinct.

Galan drew his knife, forgoing his sword in the close quarters, and she noted that the prince had not a trace of fear in his eyes.

He stayed crouched in the corridor, knife out before him, but this was _nothing_ to Celaena Sardothien. Years and years she'd trained with the most ruthless masters the world had to offer; she'd taken on men twice her size and chopped them into unrecognizable pieces.

Closer and closer! She feinted right but spun left, sliding against the wall to pop up behind the prince. Galan's knife drove deep into the wood and caught, holding a split second before it ripped out in a shower of splinters. But that was more than enough. A vicious grin had light skittering off her teeth as she beat him back and back, striking mercilessly at his face.

The prince stumbled a step back, swearing, his arms flailing wide. In that instant, she seized his wrist, twisting until the knife slipped, and swiftly snatched up the falling blade. She drew her arm back and threw.

The knife soared through the air, whistling, and drew a razor-thin line down the side of Galan's neck, thudding dully into the wall behind him. Blood began to well in the curved cut, shallow as it was, drawing the line again in brilliant crimson against his olive skin.

Galan swore again and slapped a hand to his neck. He stared at her, furious, his breath coming in pants.

"I don't miss," she said simply, and took a step closer.

"Assassin," the Crown Prince said, as if that were a reply. He straightened, his hand falling to his side. "Have you come to kill me?"

A laugh burst out of her, short and ugly, the sound bouncing up and down in the corridor. "If I'd wanted to kill you, you wouldn't have known until you'd reached the Dark God's realm. No, Prince, I'm not here to kill you."

"What you said just now, about starting a new life. Is that true?"

Celaena studied the youth in front of her. Something in his eyes had fallen, a wall or a pretense or just some of the hardness in that face, and it let her see how young he really was. Galan wasn't a man yet, not nearly, just a boy who grew up too fast, who hardened his heart and worked every day to be a prince his nation could be proud of.

She didn't answer his question. "How old are you?"

He blinked, but answered. "Almost nineteen."

Nineteen! Gods, she'd never have guessed that from his eyes. She left the silence too long, because Galan frowned, the flame in his eyes roaring up again.

"It's true," she said belatedly. "It's true. I'm going to start a new life. One without killing. One far from my old master. Yes, it's true."

And without her knowing, a smile spread across her face.

xxx

She meant it, he could tell. It was in the way the cold, cruel face opened into something softer, younger. In the way she spoke, the earnestness he doubted many people heard from this girl of lies and quick, cutting strokes of both words and blade. It was the smile that had appeared of its own accord, the way relief had lit her eyes when she spoke. And somewhere along the way, she'd stopped speaking for him and begun speaking to the world, for herself.

Yes, she would carve her way out of this assassin's skin yet.

He considered the girl standing before him. An Ashryver, but no queen - not yet, not until she chose. His parents would be most interested in this discovery. Yet despite himself, something softened in him. It was hard to look at her and think of political plans, of setting her on a throne, when she was so obviously still a girl, and one who was achieving a hard-won dream.

She broke into his thoughts.

"Prince."

Their eyes met, unflinching. That was something they shared, it seemed; an iron will, steel in their blood; the resolve to carry out their duty.

"You can have my name." She was perfectly still; serious; there was the beginning of a frown, a tiny wrinkle in her forehead. "People shouldn't have to live in fear of me anymore."

"My name," said she, like a secret taking wing, uncurled, from the warm space in one's chest, "is Celaena Sardothien, once known as Adarlan's Assassin. And now I'm just one of your refugees."

She smiled, a small, sad smile, and turned away. Galan watched, silent, the blood dripping down his neck forgotten.


End file.
